


Ghosts In The Attic | A Sleepybois Ghost AU

by Ashburn1198



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Absent Parent, Adopted Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Adoption, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Death, Child Loss, Child Neglect, Custody Arrangements, Custody Battle, DadSchlatt, Dadza, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead People, DreamSMP - Freeform, Drug Use, Everyone Has Issues, Family, Family Angst, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Floris | Fundy Has Abandonment Issues, Floris | Fundy Needs A Hug, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Heart Attacks, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Philza has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poverty, Ranboo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry, Spirits, Suicide, Talking To Dead People, Technoblade Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance, Violence, dadza more like sadza, ghost - Freeform, ghost au, ghostybois, sleepybois
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashburn1198/pseuds/Ashburn1198
Summary: “Tommy! Dad said never to go into the attic!”“Relax!” Tommy said, trying to reach the rope hanging from the ceiling that would open the attic. “He’s not here, and the babysitter hasn’t shown up yet, so he’ll never know!”---------------------As far as Tommy and Tubbo knew, they were the only children that Phil had ever had. But one day, after a trip into the attic, the boys and their father learned that the skeletons in the closet and the ghosts in the attic are there to both help and haunt those that loved them.For jkermiku, the best of us
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot/Sally the Salmon
Comments: 84
Kudos: 536





	1. Into The Attic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jkermiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkermiku/gifts).



> i saw art for ghostybois au and i was like "yeah i can make people cry with this concept" so here we are

“Tommy! Dad said never to go into the attic!”

“Relax!” Tommy said, trying to reach the rope hanging from the ceiling that would open the attic. “He’s not here, and the babysitter hasn’t shown up yet, so he’ll never know!”

The two brothers were truly in an odd situation at the moment. The younger, Tubbo, was about 10 years old, and he was currently holding the chair steady underneath his big brother Tommy. Tommy had just celebrated his 14th birthday the week before, and so fueled by his newfound desire to “do as he pleased”, he decided that day would be a fine day for breaking the rules.

Tommy’s hand closed around the rope and he gave a swift tug, popping open the trapdoor to the attic.There was a visible cloud of dust seeping into the upstairs hallway as a ladder cascaded down from hole, swiftly hitting Tommy straight in the head and sending him crashing to the floor. 

“TOMMY! Tommy! Are you alright?” Tubbo asked frantically. He knelt next to a groaning Tommy, who rubbed his forehead with a grimace on his face. “That looked like it hurt a lot! Do you want me to call 911?”

“No, Tubbo, I’m fine,” Tommy said confidently, if a bit dazed. “Look! We got the attic opened!”

The two brothers stood to their feet and looked at the opened attic door. They looked at each other once and, all fear of being caught forgotten, suddenly felt as if they were the explorers of a new land. One after the other, the two boys ascended into the attic.

The attic was, in no small part, incredibly dusty. Everything looked like it hadn’t been touched for a very long time. There were a lot of boxes as well as old furniture and shoe boxes that most likely had old photos in them. There was a tall sheet in the corner, probably covering a mirror of some sort, and dressers full of moth-eaten clothes and some mattresses shoved into the other corner. On top of one of the dressers was a thin long box tied closed with a red ribbon, and it caught Tommy’s attention almost immediately.

He crept over to the dresser, listening to the creaking floorboards beneath his feet, and took the box into his hands. It was dusty, like everything else in the attic, but it also looked like it had been disturbed recently. He untied the ribbon from around it, lifted the lid and gasped in excitement. Inside the box was a long gleaming sword with a fancy metal design curling around the hilt in the shape of a crescent moon. 

Gingerly, Tommy took it out of the box and held it in his hands, sitting down at the floor to look at it. It glinted in the soft yellow sunlight, scattering light across the ceiling. It looked like it had just been polished to perfection. 

Like someone was waiting for him to discover it.

He stood and held the sword high above his head. It was surprisingly heavy, due to a combination of the metal decoration on the hilt and Tommy’s flimsy wrists, but he kept it steady above his head. He heard Tubbo gasp behind him. “Wow! Is that a sword?”

“Uh huh,” Tommy said, still transfixed by the shining blade. It was the coolest thing he had  _ ever  _ seen.

“Can I have a turn?” 

“No, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Aw, come on! Please please please??”

“No! We’re not even supposed to be up here! Imagine if I had to call Dad and tell him you got hurt playing with his old sword!”

Tubbo  _ hmph _ ed and stormed past Tommy towards the back end of the attic, noticing the tall sheet for the first time. Curious, he pulled it down to the floor.

It was a large mirror caked in dust and grime that left nasty streaks when Tubbo ran his fingers over the surface. He absentmindedly wiped his fingers on his pants and began looking for a cloth of some sort to keep removing the dust. Having found nothing, he resorted to using the sheets that had once covered it, and managed to wipe enough of the grime off to see his own face. He stared back at himself in the mirror, and gave a toothy grin. 

Something was in the mirror behind him that piqued his curiosity. He turned, and saw it sitting there, simply and plainly.

It was a framed picture of a family. 

He picked it up, blowing the dust off the glass. It was a family portrait.

Their dad sat in a chair, holding a baby that Tubbo guessed was himself. On the left half of the photo stood a much younger Tommy sporting a smile with a front tooth missing. But the odd thing about it was the two boys standing above them.

Standing on the right side with his hand on Dad’s shoulder was a lanky boy with curly brown hair covering his forehead and a beanie on his head. He wore a comfy-looking yellow sweater. He had a full smile that made his eyes crinkle around the edges, and Tubbo decided that he looked friendly.

On the other side of their Dad, standing above Tommy, was an even taller but more muscled figure leaning on the chair with one hand on Phil’s other shoulder and the other hovering just above Tommy’s head. His hair was long and dyed a shocking shade of pink, and it looked as if it had been meticulously braided and draped over his shoulder. He wore a white tux shirt with a red cumberbun wrapped around his waist, a pair of black dress pants and black dress shoes. He had several golden cartilage piercings and cuffs on his ears. His smile was smaller than the other boy’s, but he looked confident and at-ease. Tubbo decided that, while the other boy looked friendly, the pink-haired boy looked  _ cool _ .

Unfortunately, he had no idea who these two were.

“Tommy!” he said. “I found an old picture!”

Tommy practically leapt from his seat on the floor, leaving the sword behind, and popping up behind Tubbo and taking the picture from him. His brows furrowed. “It’s you, me, and dad, but who are those other two?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I thought you would know.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I don’t, but now I want to. Look around and see what you can find. Maybe we’ll find something that will tell us who they are.”

The two boys did some digging and came across a relatively dust-free shoebox full of old pictures of their dad and the two unknown boys. There was a picture of a birthday party, with the brown-haired boy sitting in front of a birthday cake. There was a baseball game, pictures of a child’s art, picnics, photos of the boy playing on the front lawn of the house. And then there was a picture of the other boy. His hair wasn’t pink or long, though, and his ears weren’t pierced. Instead, he looked unsteady, almost nervous. He looked around Tubbo’s age. When Tubbo turned the photo over, he saw the caption written in permanent marker. 

_ Techno comes home (11) _

He set it to the side and kept looking at the photos. There were more photos of this boy named Techno, photos of him sitting in the living room and playing with toys and going outside and sword fighting—

“Tommy, look!”

Tommy leaned over and looked at the photo Tubbo had in his hands. It was Techno, his short hair dyed pink in a floppy mohawk and dressed in a long sleeved white shirt with a red jacket overtop, standing triumphantly and holding his opponent at sword point. He had an indomitable grin on his face, his eyes wild with victory. He held the very sword Tommy had examined.

More than ever, Tommy wanted to meet him.

* * *

It had been three days since the attic was last opened, and Wilbur was getting lonely. 

Most days, Techno was in there with him, and the two would go into a sort of hibernation together. Other days Techno would just be gone, no explanation of where he went. Wilbur thought that maybe he was visiting someone, but when he would ask Techno where he had gone, Techno would just give him a confused look.

Today, unfortunately, was one of those days. It was approximately 12:48 pm on a Sunday in the soft fringes of summer, and Wilbur was slumbering deep inside of one of the dresser drawers when he heard talking. He stirred and crawled out of the drawer, tired and groggy and confused. Who was that? Dad would have gone to work by now, and it didn’t sound like Techno… 

As he straightened, he examined the room. Nothing was out of place from the last time Dad had visited, save for Techno’s rapier, slightly jostled from its original position. Wilbur smiled and brushed off the dust from the box, retying the ribbon around it. 

The talking grew louder now. Wilbur furrowed his brow. Who was talking? Had someone broken in?

Wilbur pressed his ear to the trapdoor.

“Tommy! Dad said never to go into the attic!”

“Relax!” came the muffled reply. “He’s not here, and the babysitter hasn’t shown up yet, so he’ll never know!”

The trapdoor suddenly gave way, and the sliding ladder along with it, surging forward and smashing into the head of a blonde boy, who fell off of the dining room chair he had been using to reach and crashed to the floor in a heap.

Panic rose in Wilbur’s chest, and he dropped down to the hallway and knelt beside the boy. He didn’t look too bad, maybe just a bit of a bump on his forehead.

The other boy, younger than the blonde one, also knelt next to the boy. “TOMMY! Tommy! Are you alright?” he asked, panic in his voice. The name seemed familiar to Wilbur, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The boy, Tommy, rubbed his forehead with a grimace on his face. “That looked like it hurt a lot! Do you want me to call 911?”

Wilbur couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He’d be fine, coming out of the situation with maybe a little bruise. 

“No, Tubbo, I’m fine,” Tommy said. _ Tubbo. _ That name, too, was very familiar. He pointed at the ladder. “Look! We got the attic opened!”

Wilbur looked with them and realized what had happened. The attic…

The attic was open. For the first time, the attic door was actually  _ open _ .

The two boys climbed up into the attic, and Wilbur decided to follow them. 

They looked around it, stunned. It was clear that they had never been in the attic before this point. One of the first things that they noticed, to Wilbur’s delight, was Techno’s rapier.

“Wow! Is that a sword?”

“Uh huh,” the older boy, Tommy said. He was dazzled by it, holding it in his hand with a look of awe in his eyes. 

“Can I have a turn?” 

“No, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“As, come on! Please please please??”

“No! We’re not even supposed to be up here! Imagine if I had to call Dad and tell him you got hurt playing with his old sword!”

The younger, Tubbo, was clearly upset by this, so he stomped past Tommy and towards the other end of the attic. He began poking around in the attic, investigating little things before he uncovered the mirror. He began to wipe the dust off with the sheet and he looked at himself in the mirror, smiling a little with satisfaction. He seemed to notice something behind him though.

It was a framed portrait of the family, with Dad, him, Techno, and—

Something clicked. Wilbur’s heart ached. 

Tubbo and Tommy.

He hadn’t recognized them. They had grown up so much.

Tubbo began examining the portrait with interest. “Tommy! I found an old picture!”

Tommy broke his gaze away from the sword and saw the picture that was in his hand and jumped to his feet, leaving the rapier laying on the floor. He took the photo from Tubbo’s hands, looked at it and scowled. “It’s you, me, and dad, but who are those other two?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I thought you would know.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I don’t, but now I want to. Look around and see what you can find. Maybe we’ll find something that will tell us who they are.”

They were looking around when Wilbur got an idea. Retrieving the old shoebox from behind some other boxes, he placed it within view of the boys, who noticed it and began rifling through the photos. They were the photos that Dad had set aside to look at occasionally, his favorites that reminded him about Wilbur and Techno the most. At first, it was photos of just Wilbur, before Techno came home for the first time, and then there were pictures of Techno and Wilbur playing, pictures of the two eating dinner, pictures of Techno playing. There was a fuzzy feeling in Wilbur’s chest at the sight of these photos. They made him happy to see Techno that way. 

Soon, the boys found the picture of Techno’s first sparring match. He had won against a trained opponent. It was the moment that Techno had found himself, that he had found something to pour himself into. It was one of Wilbur’s favorite photos of his older brother. 

After a few minutes, it seemed that the boys grew bored of examining the objects, and they decided to go back downstairs. The mirror was uncovered, photos scattered the floor, and Techno’s rapier lay bare on the hardwood when the two went back downstairs. They left the attic door wide open, much to Wilbur’s dismay. 

He always thought that he would be overjoyed when the attic door was finally left open, letting him free to finally walk outside again.

But instead, he just felt scared. 

Dad was going to be  _ so mad _ when he got home.

* * *

Phil put his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

It had been such a long day. 

He took several deep breaths, turning off the car. Today had been rough, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. 

Sighing, he unbuckled and climbed out of the car only to see that the driveway was empty, the spot that the babysitter usually parked in completely barren.

Phil’s stomach dropped. 

Abandoning the groceries, Phil ran inside and threw the front door open, panic filling his throat like molten lead. The hallway entrance was empty, but the boys’ shoes were still sitting by the front door. He practically threw himself into the house, skating around the corner towards the kitchen and living room. Tubbo was laying on the couch covered by a blanket, fast asleep, and he could faintly see the top of Tommy’s head over the top of the recliner that faced the TV. The TV was on, playing some old black-and-white movie.

Phil took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. They were safe. They were here, and they were safe, and they were alive. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, but he brushed them away with the heel of his palm. His boys were safe. 

He gently laid a hand on the back of the recliner and spun it towards him. Tommy was dead asleep with a blanket covering up to his shoulders, his head drooping to the side. Phil gave a sad smile and kissed Tommy’s cheek. Tommy made a soft noise, his eyes fluttering open, squinting slightly. “Hi dad,” he murmured, his voice thick with grogginess. 

“Hi kiddo,” Phil said softly. “Where’s the babysitter?”

“Mmm, she didn’t show up.”

“She didn’t? Did she call?”

“Mmmm, no. She just never showed up.”

Phil closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip.  _ Fuck. _ He’d have to call her later. He brushed the hair out of Tommy’s eyes. “It’s past 8, did you two eat yet?”

“I can’t…” he yawned. “I can’t remember. I don’t think we did.” 

“Okay, do you want me to make some Mac and Cheese for dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m gonna head upstairs real quick to get some pajamas on and then I’ll start dinner, okay?”

“Mkay.”

Phil gave him another kiss and headed up the stairs where he froze.

The attic trap door was open, with a chair beneath it.

No. No no no no no. 

Phil scrambled up the ladder and heaved himself into the attic. A cry of anguish built in his throat as he fell to his knees. 

The mirror was uncovered. The pictures were on the floor. The  _ sword _ was on the floor.

_ No. No, no, no.  _ His hat dropped from his fingers. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched the top of his head. No no no! NO!

The pain started to ache in his chest, like it had every time he came up into the attic. It burned and flared, and he sobbed. He sobbed like a child. He sobbed like it was that horrible week all over again. He wept like he had lost them all over again. 

He kept seeing their faces. Kept hearing their voices. Kept feeling their hands in his. 

He wanted it to stop, but it would never stop. Not as long as the attic was opened. Not as long as everything was still here. Not as long as he lived.

He found the family portrait sitting in its frame on the ground. He held it in his hands and pressed it against his chest and cried, rocking back and forth. 

His boys. His beautiful, wonderful boys. His incredible, amazing boys. 

Gone. 

It took him the better part of ten minutes to have enough strength to clean everything up. He put the sheet over the mirror, cleaned up the photos and put them back in the shoebox, and put the family photo back behind the boxes. But when he picked up the sword laying on the ground, the pain came again. It settled soft and slow, aching in his chest. 

His beautiful boys.

* * *

“ _ TOMMY! _ ”

Tommy sat ramrod straight in his chair, his heart pounding. Dad was  _ pissed _ . Dad was pissed and he didn’t know why. He ran his mind through everything that had happened that day when he stopped.

_ The attic. _

He leapt up from the chair as the sound of his dad’s footsteps thundered down the stairs. Dad looked at him, and Tommy took a step back.

His eyes were red and puffy, and he was shaking with fury. His stomach dropped, and he tasted fear in his mouth.

“You went in the attic,” Dad said, his voice shaking. “You went in the attic when I have told you for  _ years _ that that was the one thing that I would not tolerate. It was the only thing that I  _ begged _ you not to do, and you did it anyway!”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said quietly. 

“No, Tommy, sorry doesn’t mean anything in this situation. You  _ deliberately _ disobeyed me. Why did you go up there?!”

“I-I was just curious,” Tommy stammered, unable to keep his voice from quivering. “I had never seen what was up there before and I wanted to know!”

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. “I told you not to go in the attic, but you did. You are so grounded. Grounded for as long as I can possibly manage. All of the chores in the house are  _ your  _ responsibility and they are to be done  _ before _ I get home, not after. No TV or phone for a week, and even after the week you will  _ earn _ them back in the evening once you’ve done your chores. On top of that, you will  _ never _ go into the attic again, ever. Not if the babysitter asks you to, not if you do it on a dare, not if Tubbo wants to go up there again. No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ about it. Do you understand?”

Tommy nodded, swallowing hard. “Why don’t you want me up there?”

“It is absolutely none of your business,” Dad said, his jaw clenched. “Phone first.” Dad’s hand stuck out expectantly.

Tommy placed his phone in his dad’s hand. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I know you’re sorry, but I can’t forgive you. Not right now. Go to your room. I’ll call you down for dinner once it’s done.”

“But—”

“Go to your room, Tommy. End of discussion.”

Tears welled up in Tommy’s eyes, and anger bubbled in his chest. “Who were those boys?”

“Room,  _ now. _ ”

“Why do we have so many photos of them?”

“ _ Now, _ Tommy.”

“Why don’t we know about them?!”

“NOW!”

Tommy shrunk back, eyes wide. Dad didn’t yell. He didn’t scream, or shout, or explode with anger. Tommy had hit a nerve, and he was scared to keep swinging for fear of setting off an explosion. 

He pushed past his dad and ran up the stairs and slammed his door shut, laid on his bed, covered his face with a pillow and screamed. 

He took a few deep breaths, like the ones that Dad always took when he got too mad to speak. He listened to Dad’s voice talk quietly to Tubbo downstairs, and heard Tubbo’s replies come between sobs and sniffles. 

He wished, at that moment, that he had never gone into the attic.


	2. Out of The Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of playground bullies, bloody noses, and a father's grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence in this chapter y'all
> 
> also MASSIVE fucking thank you to jkermiku, my beta reader. love you!!!!!

The morning after the fight was hard. Tommy was exhausted, as was Tubbo, and Phil was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, staring at a steaming mug of hot coffee. The last thing he wanted to do today was go to work, but they needed the money and it was too short of a notice to get a substitute for today’s class. So he decided to just power through it and show a movie to the class. 

There were days where he missed his boys because they were his  _ boys _ , the lights of his life. And then there were days where he missed them because they knew things that he didn’t, and he could always ask them for advice on what kids their age thought about a subject. Techno’s knowledge was especially handy in this case, because he  _ loved  _ watching history documentaries, the very subject Phil taught at the local high school. Maybe he would have picked out a good movie, but Phil would have to decide this on his own.

So, given that it was close to Summer and the school year would be ending soon, Phil decided to do a film on 9/11. No, it wasn’t the most interesting or the most action-packed, but it fit with the curriculum, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Phil took a sip of his coffee. Tommy was practically falling asleep at the table, and Tubbo seemed upset about something.

“What’s wrong, Tubb?” Phil asked, patting the back of the boy’s hand.

“M’tired,” he said, “Don’t want to go to school.”

“Neither do I, buddy. But sometimes we’ve gotta do things we don’t like that will help us be better in the future. Can you put your plate in the sink once you’re done? I’ll drive you both today.”

Tubbo nodded. “I wish it was pajama day.”

“Me too, kiddo.”

* * *

“Hey! I like your shirt, did your  _ daddy _ pick it out for you?”

Tubbo kept his eyes forward, unfocused as he sat on the swing. The other 5th graders were always mean to him because his dad was a teacher at the high school. Dad had always just said to ignore them.

“What’s wrong  _ Tubby? _ Such a baby that you don’t even know when someone’s talking to you?”

_ Don’t listen to them, Tubbo, _ his dad would say.  _ Don’t even look at them. Don’t acknowledge them at all. They’ll stop if you don’t give them attention. _

Tubbo kept his eyes on the ground, weakly pumping his legs.

“Aw, look at the baby! Look at the little baby trying to kick his legs! Come on, let’s give him a push!”

Tubbo was suddenly sprawled on the woodchips beneath the swing set. He spit out a few that had landed in his mouth and tried to stand up, but someone’s foot pushed him back to the ground. He desperately looked around for a teacher, but there was none. He was trapped. 

“Looks like Tubby’s shoelaces came untied! What do you guys say we help him tie them again?”

There was snickering, and Tubbo felt his shoelaces come untied.  _ Whenever you feel sad, but don’t want to cry, take some deep breaths and count to three. Three when you breathe in, three when you breathe out, _ his Dad said once, so he did.

When they untied his shoelaces, he breathed in. 1, 2, 3.

When they tied his shoelaces back together, he breathed out. 1, 2, 3.

_ Everything’s gonna be okay, Tubbo _ . _ I love you. Have a good day at school, okay? _

Even when the kids ran away laughing, even when Tubbo had stood up and shuffled away and sat down at the base of a tree, he still tried to breathe. It wasn’t working, though. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to undo his shoelaces with shaking fingers. He was shaking too badly though, so he put his head between his knees and cried.

Why couldn't they just leave him alone? What had he ever done to hurt them?

“Hey, do you need help?”

He lifted his head. There was a teenage boy, maybe 16 or 17, crouched in front of him. He wore a grey shirt and a red hat, and had messy hair. He looked familiar, but Tubbo couldn’t remember where he’d seen him.

“Do you need help?” the boy repeated. “I can help you if you want.”

Tubbo just nodded his head, too upset to speak.

The boy gently untied the shoelaces from each other. “Those kids are mean, huh?”

Tubbo nodded. 

“Yeah, I figured. Don’t worry, they’ll get what they deserve in the end.” The boy finished tying the shoelaces and sat down in front of him. “You’re Tubbo, right?”

“Uh uh.”

“That’s a very cool nickname. Do you know who gave you that nickname?”

“My dad did.”

“Nope, I did. My name is Wilbur. Do you remember me?”

Suddenly he did.

“You’re the boy in the picture, aren’t you?”

The boy, Wilbur smiled. It was definitely him. “Yes, that’s me. I can be your friend, Tubbo. When Dad can’t be here, I can. At any moment, at any time. Just ask for me and I’ll do my best to be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tubbo said, sniffling. “Do you wanna come over after school?”

“I’d love to.”

* * *

Tommy  _ hated _ waiting for the babysitter. He hated it because he didn’t like being alone, and most days Dad wouldn’t be able to come home for three or more hours.

But most of all he hated it because  _ they _ would come.

They would wander the high school campus, seemingly searching for victims to harass. Tommy had once heard the story of the kid who got jumped by their predecessors outside the school, who had never come back. It scared him more than he would like to admit.

He heard them approach before he saw them. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched behind one of the pillars at the front of the school and tried to stay unnaturally still so that no part of him would poke out, exposing his location. 

Their footsteps thundered against the concrete. Their voices boomed throughout the courtyard. They were a living storm, and anyone who got caught up in their whirlwind would be left face-down in the mud. Tommy was directly in their path. 

Somehow, they had known he was there. He was shoved to the ground and tasted copper in his mouth and felt something dripping down his face. When he lifted his fingers to his nose, they were covered in crimson. They must’ve broken his nose. Laughter echoed behind him.

“You know what? I think this is that one kid’s brother! You remember the one?”

“Of course I fucking remember, idiot! Not easy to forget in  _ my house _ .” Someone jerked him up by the back of his shirt to stand up. It was one of those assholes, sneering in his face. He shoved a dazed Tommy up against the pillar and whipped out a short pocket knife. Tommy’s heart rate spiked. 

He was going to die.

“I can’t wait to see you bleed all over the concrete,” he hissed, pressing the knife to Tommy’s neck. “Your bitch-ass is going to leave a blood puddle so red they’ll be scrubbing it out for  _ weeks _ —”

That victorious, crazed grin slid off of his attackers face and splat onto the ground. He was no longer looking at Tommy — he was looking  _ behind  _ him.

Tommy craned his neck around to see who had scared him so badly. There was no one there, but when Tommy looked back his attackers were sprinting away.

Tommy laughed in disbelief. What the fuck had they seen?

There was a loud car honk. A small blue car pulled up to the curb. It was the babysitter. 

The taste of fear in Tommy’s mouth changed to horror as he looked down at his shirt. It was covered in drops of blood from his broken nose, staining the starch white to a crimson red.

Dad was going to be upset. Dad was going to be so mad at him for ruining the shirt. What would he say when he saw Tommy? How angry would he be?

There was another honk. Tommy wiped the blood from his face quickly and ran towards the car. The babysitter was sitting in the front seat, looking at her phone, with Tubbo sitting in the backseat, apparently asleep.

Tommy opened the door and climbed into the car and buckled his seatbelt, holding his backpack on his lap in an attempt to hide the bloodstains on his shirt. There was still blood dripping down his face, so he cupped his hand under his nose in a desperate attempt to not bleed all over the car. 

“Your dad’s gonna be home in about an hour,” the babysitter said absentmindedly, texting someone. “I have to jet 15 minutes before he gets home though in order to make it to my night class so for 15 minutes try your best not to die.”

Tommy nodded, still cupping his nose.

* * *

Phil pulled into his typical parking spot in his driveway, rubbing his eyes. It was 6 pm but he was already so exhausted. Maybe watching the same history documentary 5 times in a row without pause will do that to a man, but he refused to see that as an explanation.

He got out of the car, grabbed his bag and headed inside, unlocking the front door. The boys’ shoes were stacked neatly by the front door, the hallway was swept and the rug shaken out and the coats were hung up on the wall. Phil nodded his head in satisfaction, glad Tommy had done his chores. He ambled through the hallway slowly and quietly, coming into the kitchen and looking out onto the living room. 

Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo were asleep on the couch, cuddled in a pile with a large blanket draped over their laps. Their chests rose and fell in time with each other, and Phil had a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest as he started dinner.  _ I love my boys _ , he thought to himself.

The can of peas he had been holding clattered to the floor.

He quickly turned his head back to the couch, his breath caught in his throat.

Tommy and Tubbo still stay asleep. 

Wilbur was gone. 

Phil felt his legs give way underneath him. The pain came soft and slow, wrapping around his chest like a blanket. It was the most familiar emotion in the world now, more of a comfort than a burden. But it still stung, it still burned at the hollow in his throat, even now. 

He still wished he had kept them home that day, like they had asked. He wished he had just spent the day with them on the couch, watching some stupid old movies like a family. 

He wished that he could still hold them, tell them how much he loved them, watch them grow up.

But they were gone, and he’d never get to. 


	3. Into The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw//mental breakdowns, parental arguing, blood (nosebleeds), child loss and death
> 
> this was 14 pages long i am so sorry
> 
> god this was a long one to write but it was worth it in the end

Phil’s face went sheet-white.

Tommy’s bed was empty. Blood stained his pillow and sheets and smeared his blankets. There was so much of it, and on the white pillowcase it almost looked like… 

Blood on the snow.

Blood, deep and crimson, saturating the snow, staining his shirt and pants and hands. 

A cold, pale hand resting limply in his own.

_No. Please God, not Tommy._

There was a groan from the bathroom. Phil raced down the hall and grabbed the bathroom door frame. “Tommy! Are you okay?! What happened?”

Tommy was cupping his hand under his bleeding nose, a look of panic written across his face. There was blood on the bathroom counter and in the sink. A trail of dried crimson stained his blue sleep shirt.

His eyes met Phil’s, and his heart shattered at the look of fear on his son’s face.

Phil put a gentle hand on Tommy’s back. “It’s alright, buddy,” Phil murmured. “It’s just a bloody nose, is all. Put your head down and let it drip into the sink. I’ll change your sheets, okay?”

Tommy nodded, doing as Phil said. He was tense, almost shaking. Now that Phil could see his face properly, he noticed how swollen Tommy’s nose was.

And then it clicked.

“Tommy,” he said quietly. “What broke your nose?”

He didn’t answer, only stared into the blood-soaked sink.

“Tommy—“

“I got jumped, alright?” Tommy’s voice was thick with strain. “Outside the school. One of ‘em had a knife and he was about to gut me like a fish when something scared ‘em off. All they did was push me around.”

A cold, pale hand resting limply in his own.

The words felt like a punch in the gut, the way he so casually said it, like it was a normal occurrence. And what if it was? What if it _was_ an everyday thing for him? What if he had been so close to losing his son, his _Tommy_ , more times than he could count?

“Tommy, look at me.”

Tommy looked Phil in the eyes and Phil’s stomach dropped. He knew that look. He knew those eyes. There was no spark in them, just a hollowness.

In that moment he looked too much like Wilbur.

“Don’t hide from me,” Phil said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t hide this from me, Tommy. Please, _please_ don’t hide the danger you could be in. I… I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you.”

Tommy turned back to the sink without another word. 

Phil closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again. “I’ll go get you some tissues—“

“Please don’t leave.”

Tommy’s voice was small, barely above a whisper, but the words stabbed Phil in the chest with a blunt dagger. “Tommy?”

“Please, dad, don’t leave me.”

Tommy shook like an earthquake, his fingers turning white as they gripped the bathroom counter.

“Okay,” Phil murmured. “I won’t leave. Well use some toilet paper, is that okay?”

Tommy nodded.

After Phil had Tommy sit on the closed toilet lid and had cleaned the sink of any remnants of blood, he handed Tommy a damp cloth which he used to wipe his face of the dried blood. For a moment the two sat in the bathroom in silence, soaking in the company of the other, until Phil spoke again.

“Do you have any tests tomorrow?”

“Yeah, a physical science exam.”

“Damn, I was gonna keep you home. Wednesday?”

“No, the band teacher doesn’t have us do an exam.”

“Good, we’ll go out for lunch, just you and me. How does that sound?”

“Sounds nice. Is Uncle Schlatt still coming on Saturday?”

“Friday, actually. For Tub’s 5th grade graduation.”

“Right.”

There was a silence, and then Tommy spoke again.

“When are you gonna tell him about uncle Schlatt?”

Phil sighed. “I have no idea, bud. Not for a while, I don’t think.”

“He deserves to know, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m just worried about how he’ll take it, y’know? I’m thinking when he’s 12 or 13 would be a good time. Hell, maybe even this summer.”

Tommy nodded. “I think this summer would be best. Isn’t uncle Schlatt moving in-state this summer anyways? Telling him then would give them a chance to bond.”

“Tommy, how the hell are you so smart?”

Tommy’s face cracked into a smile as he laughed. “It’s a combination of your common sense and mum’s insanity, I think.”

Phil laughed. “You definitely have her lack of impulse control, I’ll tell you that!”

“HEY!”

The two dissolved into laughter.

It was 3 am when a father and his son sat in their upstairs bathroom, knowing that everything was okay for the moment. And that was more than enough for Phil.

* * *

“Dad, where’s my backpack at?”

“It’s in your room, Tubb, exactly where it was last night.”

“Dad, have you seen my sweater?”

“It’s on the hook, Tommy! Come downstairs and have breakfast!”

Tommy’s footsteps thundered down the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen, where he sat at the table as Phil placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. Phil liked to cook. It was one of his favorite things to do for his kids, and they always seemed to like it, because typically it was gone within a minute or two. Tommy was shoveling egg into his mouth aggressively, his eyes fixed on a book in front of him. It was a physical science textbook, Phil noted, and remembered Tommy’s teacher was assigning their final exam today.

“Workin’ hard, bud?” Phil asks jokingly, placing a side of toast onto Tommy’s plate.

Tommy gave a little “uh huh”, eyes still fixed on the book.

“Just remember that this Friday is the last day of school, alright? You’re gonna do just fine, bud.”

Tommy nodded. He was fixated on the subject at hand, it seemed, and Phil felt a swell of pride in his chest. He knew Tommy would do more than fine. 

“Dad! The bus is here!”

Tommy shot up from his chair, grabbed his textbooks, and shoved them into his bag. “LOVE YOU!” he shouted, dipping outside, Tubbo quickly following behind him.

Phil snorted. Never a dull moment with those two.

The house was quiet, now, a rarity with his sons. He cooked his breakfast in silence, having taken the day off of work, and sat down at the table and ate, listening to the birds sitting outside the open kitchen window. It was nice, having some time for himself.

Until the phone started ringing.

Phil flinched at the harsh sound of the phone ringing bouncing off the walls of the kitchen. He stood from his chair and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

It was a feminine voice who answered him. “Hey, Phil.”

Phil almost dropped his coffee. “Sam, hey! How are you doing?”

“A lot better,” she said. “Jason and I split so I’m moving back to Massachusetts next weekend. How are you and the boys doing?”

Phil was taken aback at the sudden news. “Wait, what? You’re moving back home?”

“Yeah! I just figured I haven’t seen you and the boys in so long that I’d come back home, get a new start, y’know?”

“I—”

“I’ll be back in-town this Friday, actually. Is anything happening then? Maybe I can take the boys out for dinner.”

Phil readjusted the receiver against his ear. “ _Yeah_ , actually, it’s Tubbo’s 5th grade graduation, and Schlatt’s my plus-one.”

“Schlatt’s your plus-one? Interesting choice in a partner—”

“Sam.”

“I’m kidding, Phil. Listen, do you think I could take the kids for this weekend? There’s this waterpark near the place I’m moving to that I think they’ll like.”

_And there it is_ , Phil thought. _The Disney Mom is back at it again._

“I’m sorry, Sam, but we’re doing stuff this weekend. Tommy and I are gonna do a few things together and since Schlatt’s in-town, Tubbo’s gonna spend the weekend at his place. Maybe the four of us could go next weekend together?”

“Sorry, Phil, but I’d like some alone time with the boys, if you don’t mind.”

“Actually,” Phil said. “I _do_ mind. They haven’t seen you in five years.”

“So? They know I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to call on Tommy’s birthday? Too busy to send a letter?”

“You don’t get to guilt-trip me, Phil.”

“Well if you’re so interested in their lives, then why didn’t you?”

“Give me one good reason, right now, why I can’t be a mother to them.”

“There’s too many to list, Sam! You are extremely inconsistent, and it’s gonna mess with them too much for me to be okay with it!”

“Exc _use_ me? Who the hell are you calling inconsistent?!”

“The boys haven’t seen you in five goddamn years! Tub doesn’t even remember you! Imagine that this woman you don't remember suddenly comes into your life and starts calling herself your mother!”

“That’s who I am, though! I am their mother, and I have every single right to see them!”

“You stopped having any right to see them when you abandoned them on the side of the goddamn road, Samantha. You stopped having any fucking right to see them when you left them behind without any contact for five goddamn years of their life. If you want to see them, fine. But I’ll be present for every single moment of it.”

“Like _hell_ you will!”

“Yes, Sam, I will. They are my goddamn sons. I am their father. You haven’t even said happy birthday to them in five years!”

“I know my sons better than you ever could!”

“What’s Tommy’s middle name?”

There was a silence, and Phil sighed. “Sam—”

“Shut up. Shut up!” she yelled into the phone. “I’m clean, I swear to god I’m clean, I have been for two months, I just can’t—”

“ _What?!_ Sam what do you mean you’re _clean_?!”

“You know _exactly_ what I fucking mean, Phil.”

“And you want to see my fucking _children_ without supervision?!” he spat. “No. Absolutely fucking not. You can _call_ , you can _video chat_ , you can _send letters_ , but you will not see my goddamn sons in-person until you get your shit together. Got it?”

She sighed into the phone. “Fine. Fine, okay, I’ll call tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay, that works.” Phil rubbed his face. “I’ll make sure they know ahead of time.”

“Goodbye Phil.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

The line went dead. Phil hung the phone up and put his head into his hands, resting his elbows on the counter. 

Every time she called, every _fucking_ time, she would do this; she would always get herself into bullshit that he couldn’t fix. He knew he shouldn’t help her but it was practically an obligation. She had given him his _boys_ , his _entire world_ , but she had given it all up by making choices that had destroyed their lives.

It felt easy to blame her for his problems. Tommy’s temper, Wilbur’s anxiety, Techno’s aggression? All her. The money issues that came with being a single parent? Sam’s fault. The fact that every time she called, things seemed to go wrong? That’s just how Sam fucked everything up.

But he knew the truth.

Tommy had never gotten anger counselling like Phil had promised. Wilbur’s anxiety was because Phil didn’t get him to a psychiatrist in time. Techno’s aggression was because of his past, the countless foster homes he had been put into, which Phil couldn’t get him out of before any harm was done. The money issues were because Phil was a teacher, and his paycheck left a significant amount to be desired. And the calls? Phil _dreaded_ her calls, and afterward every little thing that went wrong seemed to be amplified. 

_None_ of it was Sam’s fault.

It was Phil’s.

He had killed his sons. And he was killing Tommy, too.

He took a shaky breath, walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and stopped in the hallway. 

The attic door taunted him. It always did. 

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, he gave the rope a swift tug. The trapdoor opened and the ladder descended swiftly. 

And so Phil climbed into the attic.

* * *

The dust swirled in the golden sunlight as the trapdoor suddenly opened. 

Techno and Wilbur looked over sharply.

Oh shit.

Phil was a mess. He sat heavy on the floor, shaking with the force of his tears. He was a wreck, and it ached somewhere deep inside of the two to see him like this.

Sam had probably called again. 

Wilbur’s gentle hands left Techno’s hair, leaving the french braid unfinished. The two stood from the floor and instead sat with Phil, who had retrieved the shoebox full of photos from its hiding place and was now holding them to his chest.

Techno sat in front of Phil and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. Phil tensed under his touch, and Techno felt something twang in his chest. 

Phil _felt_ him. Phil _knew he was there._

Phil took a shaky breath, It rattled his lungs with the effort.

“ _Boys?”_

Wilbur wrapped his arms around Phil’s torso and buried his face into his back. Phil gasped at the sudden pressure.

And then he broke. 

Tears came heavy down his face as he reached out in front of him. Techno let Phil find his arm and pull him in, grasping at him like it was the end of the world. Techno held him then, not caring about the future or the faint glimmer of hope for Rest. 

In that moment it was just him, Wilbur, and Phil.

“ _You have to tell them,_ ” Techno whispered, hoping that Phil could hear him.

“ _You have to tell Tommy._ ”

* * *

“Hey, Tommy?”

Tommy turned away from the window. Dad was standing in the doorway to the living room, silhouetted by the golden hallway light. 

“Hi dad, what’s up?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

An uneasiness settled into Tommy’s stomach. Dad’s voice was usually pretty calm and mellow, but something about it was different tonight. His words shook at the ends, and he was unusually quiet.

Something was wrong.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, all previous playfulness gone. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, where Dad sat down. 

“There’s something very important I have to tell you,” Dad began. “And you can’t tell Tubbo yet because he’s not quite old enough to understand this.”

Tommy nodded, biting the inside of his bottom lip. 

Dad took a deep breath, and began.

“Eight years ago,” he said, his voice faltering. “Eight years ago I….” Dad rubbed his eyes, his fingers coming back wet. He was crying. “Eight years ago, we lost two people in our family. Their names were Techno and Wilbur. Tommy… they were your brothers.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. 

“Do you remember them?”

Tommy shook his head slowly. “... No.”

Dad grimaced. “I wouldn’t think so. You were only six when they died.”

“Are… are they the boys in all of the pictures…?”

“Yeah.” Dad sniffed. “Since they died,” Dad said, his voice cracking. “All I’ve had was you two. And I never told you…. I never told you because I didn’t want you to be hurt by it.” Dad ran his hand through his hair, tear tracks streaming down his face. “I didn’t want you to be hurt by it like _I_ was hurt by it, so I never told you. And I realize now that it was such a stupid thing to do, to keep something like that from you two…. I couldn’t live with the feeling that what if something happened to you two and you never knew about them? Your brothers?”

Tommy was shaking. His chest felt like someone had blown a hole through it.

“I had brothers. And they’re… and they’re gone. And you… you never told me.”

Dad didn’t say anything. He just stared at the wall.

Something snapped inside of Tommy. The realization had settled in like a sack of rocks, sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“You never told me.”

It hurt. God, it hurt.

“You never _fucking_ told me.”

“Tommy—”

“YOU NEVER _FUCKING_ TOLD ME!” he screamed. “YOU NEVER _FUCKING_ TOLD ME! _YOU NEVER FUCKING TOLD ME!_ ”

His feet hit the ground and he ran up to his room, slamming his door behind him. The light was off, but Tommy didn’t give a single fucking shit. He leaned his back against the door and slid to the ground, letting that sack of rocks weigh heavy on his shoulders.

God, it hurt. Dad had never told him, and it _fucking hurt_. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. 

He tried to push himself up to his feet, but his socks slipped on the hardwood and he fell back to the floor, his head smacking against it.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

He screamed. He screamed and screamed until his voice gave way, and then he kept screaming. His fist punched a hole in the wall, his hands tore down the pictures on the walls, the drawings, the posters. His feet smashed in the bedside lamp, his fingers ripped the pages and pages of poems and lyrics to songs he had wanted to write and scattered them to the floor. His knees hit the ground, and his mouth, his _voice_ , screamed.

Are you allowed to grieve someone you’ve never met?

Are you allowed to feel so deeply and so strongly about the fact that, despite never having met someone, never having _heard_ about someone until that moment, you’d never have a chance to have them in your life? 

That you’d never get to hear their voice in your ears in conversation, that you’d never get to spend time with them? 

That you never got to love them, or know that they loved you?

He didn’t know what to do with himself. His knuckles were bleeding, there were shards of glass and porcelain in his foot from the lamp, his fingers had paper cuts all over them. He hurt. He hurt so fucking much that for a moment he couldn’t comprehend how much pain he was in. 

It was a brief moment, but for that moment not everything was shit. 

And then the world came rushing back in with a pounding on his door.

When he snapped out of it, he looked at the carnage that surrounded him. The dresser lay on the floor, its drawers spilling onto the ground, posters lay curled next to clothing, pieces of paper scattered the floor, and at the center of it all was him. Like a bomb had gone off.

And, in a way, one had.

The door burst open behind him. Dad’s shadow loomed over the room. 

“Tommy…” 

What could he have said in that moment? What could he have said that would have made everything okay again? He wanted to know, so desperately.

But there was nothing. His room was completely destroyed, there was a hole in the wall, and through the wall he could hear Tubbo crying.

The world was giving way.

Arms came around him then, strong yet gentle. His dad knelt in front of him, holding his face in his hands, wiping his tears with the soft swipe of his thumb.

Tommy buried his face in his dad’s chest, grasping at the front of his shirt, and he wept. 

As the world fell apart, Tommy wept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tommyinnit more like upsetinnit


	4. The Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two calls: one to comfort, and one to trigger the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TW: emotional abuse, nightmares, drowning???)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience!!!!

_Tubbo. Tubbo, please, come back, buddy. Everything’s gonna be okay. Please, Tub, please wake up—_

Schlatt gasped for air and sat ramrod straight in his bed, flinging the thin blanket off of his chest. Oh god, not Tubbo, not his Tubbo—

_Deep breaths, Schlatt. In and out._

It took him the better part of 5 minutes to calm down enough to get out of bed. He turned on his phone and flinched at the harsh white light. 

2:23 am.

Schlatt groaned. There was no way he was going back to sleep, not after that. 

He walked down the hallway and into the tiny kitchen of his trailer and opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. After pouring himself a shot, he set the bottle down, tossed the whiskey back, and slammed the shot glass onto the counter. The whiskey burned smoothly down his throat. He coughed once and pounded on his chest with a fist. 

Shots always took the edges off the world, made everything easier to bear. Colors weren’t so violent, noises weren’t as piercing, and his chest pains didn’t hurt as much. After enough, the world would turn smooth like glass and blend together. Those couple minutes were very nice, but he would always blackout after, so he only drank like that on the bad days. 

His phone started to buzz aggressively, threatening to vibrate itself off the counter. He picked it up and thumbed the answer button without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hi, Uncle Schlatt, it’s Tubbo.”

His casual demeanor immediately fell apart. “Hey buddy!” he said, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “What’s goin’ on, little man? It’s 2:30 in the morning.”

“Tommy’s really, really mad and I don’t know why. Daddy helped him calm down but now he’s crying.” Schlatt realized that Tubbo was crying into the phone receiver. “I don’t know what to do.”

Schlatt’s heart broke. “Where are you right now?”

“In the kitchen.”

“And where are Phil and Tommy?”

“Daddy’s gonna take Tommy to the emergency room because he stepped in a lot of glass. They’re upstairs in the bathroom trying to get the glass out right now.”

“Okay,” Schlatt said. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, alright? You’re gonna go into the living room, grab a blankie, and sit on the couch and talk to me. Can you do that?”

“Uh huh.”

There was a minute of rustling, and then a soft “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Anything you want, bud.”

And so Tubbo talked. He talked about bees (his favorite thing to talk about, Schlatt had figured out years ago), he talked about his favorite teachers and favorite subjects in school, he talked about his favorite games to play. And while he talked, Schlatt sat on his couch, his phone to his ear, and listened.

And he wept.

He wept as his son’s voice filled his head, silently cursing himself. He wished with every inch of him that Tubbo was there on the couch next to him, talking to him about every little thing that came to mind.

He wept, because his son wasn’t his son anymore.

* * *

It was the quiet that woke Phil at 7:30 in the morning. Light was already filtering through his closed bedroom curtains, scattering light onto the blankets and spilling off the bed and onto the carpeted floor. Tommy was asleep next to him, barely stirring except for the rise and fall of his chest. How did he get there?

And then he remembered. 

He told Tommy. Tommy had lost his mind. Tommy had wrecked his room. He took Tommy to the hospital. They put a cast on his foot. He would need to use crutches for the next two to four weeks. 

And no matter how much the psychiatrist there had said it wasn’t his fault, Phil’s chest still ached with guilt.

It was his fault. He shouldn’t have told Tommy. Maybe he should have told him sooner. Maybe later. 

It was too late now, though. He knew, and there was no changing that.

There was a new pressure on his side. Tommy had rolled into him and was snuggled into his side, resting his head on his father’s chest.

_Oh, god._ Phil swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He pulled his son closer to him, wrapping his arm around Tommy’s shoulders and running his fingers through the teenager’s hair.

His baby. He loved his baby. He loved his baby boy more than Tommy could ever comprehend, even if he had his own children some day. Tommy was his _everything_ , the epicenter of the earthquake in his chest that kept his heart beating, his _son,_ his _sun._

His son. A piece of heaven come hurtling down like a fiery angel with a burning halo and a voice that could crack your bedroom mirror. A thing so fragile and beautiful and delicate that you’d be afraid it would shatter if you looked at it the wrong way. A thing so holy that you dare not touch it for fear of it breaking at the slightest brushing of your fingertips. 

Tommy had been a premature baby, so small and so fragile. He was made of stained glass to Phil, holy and beautiful and utterly breakable, and it terrified him. Tommy had been four months old when Phil had held him standing up for the first time, too scared that he would just drop him. He had held him so tight to his chest that Sam’s mother had scolded him for it, but he was so enraptured by the infant’s eyes that he hadn’t even had the heart to get upset. 

He laid there in the bed for some time, just holding Tommy close to him, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

He watched his son’s breathing for a long time, too scared that his chest would rise, fall, rise, fall, and not rise again.

* * *

There was a door that Tommy had never seen before. It sat sandwiched between Tommy and Tubbo’s bedroom doors, plain and unassuming. It was painted white, like the other doors, and there was nothing particularly different about it.

But Tommy knew it wasn’t there before. How had it gotten there?

What was on the other side?

He needed to know.

The brass knob was freezing to the touch as he twisted it and pulled the door open.

Tommy sat up, gasping and coughing and spluttering, trying to get the water out of his lungs. He had been drowning, cold and drowning, pushed and pulled by the current, tossed and turned, his body burning and freezing at the same time, pushed and pulled pushed and pulled pushed and pulled—

Why did it feel so familiar?

Tommy gasped for air and it filled his lungs, easy and soft. There was no taste of salt on his tongue, no smell of smoke in his nose. He was sitting in bed.

He was sitting in Dad’s bed, the covers pulled up to his shoulders and falling to his lap. Sunlight was streaming through the window, playing with the dust in the air. Dad’s favorite blanket was wrapped around Tommy’s shoulders, and the entire room smelled like Dad’s coffee. 

He was safe. 

And then he remembered. He remembered hard and heavy.

His lungs tightened. He couldn’t breathe. He clutched at his chest and wheezed, sucking in as big of a breath as he could manage, but it barely felt like any. His breathing was heavy and labored as he tried to climb out of bed, but his cast was caught on one of the blankets. He crashed to the floor, his leg still tangled in the blankets, and his heart beat erratically in his throat.

“DAD!” he yelled, panic filling his throat. “DAAAAD!”

It seemed like barely a moment before Dad burst through the door, worry written across his face. His eyes met Tommy’s, and Tommy felt his heart skip a beat.

There was this look of fear in Dad’s face, tensing his shoulders and whitening his knuckles. He was afraid— no.

He was terrified.

“Tommy!” he cried, ripping the blankets away from Tommy’s cast and then falling to his knees beside Tommy. “Tommy, buddy, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Embarrassment replaced panic.

He had overreacted. He had overreacted way too much and had scared the shit out of Dad. What was wrong with him?! 

Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes. “I—“ His throat tightened. “I-I’m fine, I overreacted, I’m so sorry—“

Dad’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. “No, no no no, please don’t apologize,” Dad said, stroking the back of Tommy’s head. “Please don’t apologize for needing me. I don’t care what it’s for, how stupid it may seem to you, I will always, _always_ help you.”

Tommy felt himself start to cry before he could even begin to do anything about it. 

_“I love you, Tommy.”_

_“I love you too, Dad.”_

* * *

“Last night was rough, huh, buddy?”

Tubbo nodded silently, picking a dandelion and rolling the stem between his fingers. It felt funny to him, but it also felt nice. 

“Tommy was very upset. You know he wasn’t upset because of you, right?”

Tubbo nodded. “Why _was_ he upset, Wilbur?”

Wilbur didn’t answer right away. That was fine with Tubbo. He could tell Wilbur was thinking of what to say. 

“He was upset for a lot of reasons,” Wilbur began. “Dad told him something that he should have told him a lot earlier, and it hurt Tommy to hear it.”

“How did it hurt him?”

“Well, it hurt him in here.” Wilbur put his hand against Tubbo’s chest. He was warm and comforting. “Have you ever felt hurt in there, Tubbo?”

Tubbo nodded. “When uncle Schlatt and Dad fight, it hurts. Is that what that is?”

Wilbur’s face seemed to screw up for a moment, like he had been pinched hard on the arm. “Yeah, buddy, that’s what that is.”

There was a moment of silence, just the sound of the other kids playing in the distance and the breeze rustling through the trees that surrounded the playground.

“You know Dad would _never_ hurt you, right?”

Tubbo nodded. 

“And you know that Techno and I will protect you?”

He nodded again.

“Good.”

* * *

It was 6:34 pm when the phone rang, when everything began to fall apart.

Phil jumped at the sudden sound, then picked it up and pressed the answer button as he continued cooking. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sam!”

Phil nearly dropped the spatula. “Sam! That’s right, you were calling tonight! Uhh, do you wanna talk to Tommy?”

“Sure! Where is he?”

“In the living room, gimme a sec.” Phil adjusted the phone. “TOMMY!” Phil called. “You have a call!”

Tommy hobbled into the kitchen a few moments later on his crutches. He took the phone from Phil and pressed it against his ear. “Hello?”

Tommy’s face flashed through several emotions before settling on a meticulously crafted look of surprise. “Hi, mom! How are you?... Yeah, I’m doing good, too… School’s going great, we get out for summer break this Friday… Oh, um, I can’t, Dad and I are doing something that day… uhm… hey, can you give me a second?”

Tommy’s face was stricken with panic as he leaned towards Phil. “Dad, what do I say?” he hissed frantically. “She wants me to come over next week but I don’t know what to say!”

Phil clenched his jaw. “Give me the phone, I’ll talk to her.”

Tommy wordlessly handed Phil the phone, who put it up to his ear. “Hey, Sam!”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Yeah, uh, we already talked about this yesterday. You don’t get to see them without supervision.”

“Come on, Phil! Give the kid a fucking chance to actually say yes!”

“No! No, absolutely not!” Phil said. “I don’t know if you’d just take them and drive away with them without warning! I don’t know if I’d ever see them again! Until you can _make me trust you_ , you don’t get in-person visits, we _talked_ about this.”

“I don’t give a shit what we talked about, Phil. Give Tommy back the phone.”

Phil grinded his teeth together but held his tongue. He looked at Tommy and held out the phone for him to take.

Tommy shook his head violently. “No.”

Phil nodded and put the receiver back to his ear. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“ _What?!_ What about Tubbo?”

“Hold on.” He moved the phone. “TUBBO! You have a phone call!”

Tubbo raced into the kitchen, eyes wide and sparkling. “Is it grandma?!”

“No, buddy, it’s mom.”

Tubbo’s face fell, and he backed away from Phil, who held the phone for him to take. “No thank you.”

“You don’t wanna talk to your mom, Tub? It’s okay if you don’t, I just want to make sure.”

Tubbo shook his head quickly. “No. I don’t know who she is.”

Phil nodded, an ache in his chest. “Okay, buddy.”

When he put the phone back up to his ear, Sam gave a little “Hello, baby!” that was definitely meant for Tubbo. “Hey, Sam, I’m sorry but Tub isn’t really in a talkative mood right now.”

“Nonsense, put ‘im on the phone.”

“Sam, he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t _give a shit_ , Phil, let me fucking talk to him.”

“No.”

“Put me on speaker.”

“Why?”

“Fucking _do it_ , Phil! Put me on speaker right fucking now.”

“No, not if you’re gonna talk to them like that!”

“NOW, PHIL!”

Phil flinched away from the phone. Sam always scared him when she yelled, and he didn’t know why. 

“Don’t yell at them, please.” Phil pressed the speaker button and set the phone on the counter. “Alright, Sam, you’re on speaker.”

The shit she started saying horrified Phil. “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TWO!” she screamed. Tommy and Tubbo both jumped away from the phone. Tommy shoved Tubbo behind him. “ _HOW FUCKING DARE YOU NOT TALK TO YOUR FUCKING MOTHER! YOU AREN’T WORTH THE FUCKING NINE MONTHS I CARRIED YOU, TOMMY! I WISH I NEVER FUCKING HAD YOU!”_

The line went dead.

There was a heavy, heavy silence, with her last words ringing through the house like a siren. The only sound was the sizzle of the pan on the stove.

Tubbo was already sobbing, clutching onto his older brother’s arm like his life depended on it. He was so scared, and it broke Phil to hear him cry like that.

Tommy was completely and utterly still, his entire body tensed.

And then he started shaking.

“I…”

Phil rushed forward to pull both of them into his arms, the three of them falling to the ground on their knees in an embrace. “Shh, shh,” Phil said softly, stroking Tubbo’s hair and pressing a kiss against Tommy’s forehead. “Shh… it’s okay, it’s okay to cry, boys, it’s okay… I love you two so much, okay? _I love you two so much_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha :)


	5. Agents of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo has a feeling, and Wilbur remembers something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TUBBO'S BRAIN GO BRRRRRR Y'ALL

The phone rang.

Tubbo looked up suddenly from the clementine he had been peeling. He and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table after school. Dad hadn’t picked Tommy up yet, so it was just the two of them in the kitchen, with Wilbur curled up on the recliner looking at Tubbo’s math homework to make sure he had all the right answers.

Dad scowled and picked up the phone from the table and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?... Yes, this is he…”

His expression shifted from annoyance to something Tubbo couldn’t read. “Miss, can I have just a second? Thanks.” Dad put his hand over the receiver. “Hey, Tubb, could you step out for a few minutes? I have to take a really important phone call.”

Tubbo nodded, his curiosity piqued. “Can I take my orange into the living room?”

“Yeah, bud, go ahead. Thank you for asking before you did.”

Tubbo smiled at his dad and grabbed the orange and darted to the living room, his mind racing.

An important phone call. Who was calling dad and why did he want to keep it a secret? Dad didn’t keep secrets from them, so why would—

Wait.

A mysterious phone call. Dad being secretive. And the attic, those pictures of those boys, people that Dad had never told them about.

There could be only one answer to this.

Dad was a secret agent. 

There couldn’t be any other explanation for it, in Tubbo’s mind. What else would Wilbur be, except for a secret agent friend of Dad’s, constantly guarding Tubbo? Even now he was here!

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur looked up from the piece of paper in his hands. “Hmm?”

Tubbo sat on the couch. “Are you a secret agent?”

Wilbur chuckled and cracked a lopsided smile. “Why would you think that?”

“Dad’s getting a phone call in the kitchen that he doesn’t want me to listen to, and he hasn’t told me why you’re in all of those pictures in the attic, so maybe you and Dad are like secret agent buddies?”

Wilbur went completely and utterly still.

* * *

A phone call.

Wilbur remembered a phone call.

Wilbur remembered Mom leading him out of the kitchen and sitting him down on the couch for him to watch cartoons. He couldn’t remember what the cartoons were, because his mind was still back in the kitchen with Dad.

A phone call.

Wilbur remembered a phone call.

He remembered the sudden, very large deliveries on the front porch, the seemingly endless stack of fancy papers on the kitchen table that he would have to move to the counter in order to set the table for dinner, the strangers that came and sat and talked with Dad in the living room while he was sent upstairs to play. Of course, he hadn’t stayed in his room; he had sat at the top of the stairs and listened, catching snippets of their conversations. The words they used were adult-speak, practically a completely different language than what Wilbur had known when he was 10.

Child Protective Services. Foster homes. Abuse. Neglect. Legal terms sprinkled here and there, as well. The sound of papers shuffling, a woman’s gentle voice explaining something that Wilbur couldn’t understand no matter how hard he tried to wrap his head around it, and then—

_ “When will he arrive?” _

_ The woman’s laughter. “Mr. Watson, I’m surprised at your eagerness!” _

_ “When?” Dad pressed.  _

_ A chuckle. “This Friday. Does that mean you’ll take him on?” _

_ “Absolutely, without question.” _

_ “Wonderful. He’s a shy thing, but he’s such a sweet boy. I think he’ll be a perfect fit for your family, should you choose to adopt him.” _

That Friday, when Wilbur had gotten off the school bus, Dad had introduced him to his brother Techno.

“Will you give me just a second, Tubbo?”

Tubbo nodded.

Wilbur set aside the math homework and stood from the chair and made his way uncertainly into the kitchen, allowing himself to fade from view.

The chair across from Dad was still pulled out, probably where Tubbo had been sitting moments before. He sat down, the chair creaking ever-so-slightly under his weight.

Dad looked up sharply from his computer over at where Wilbur was sitting and furrowed his brows. Wil realized that Phil must’ve heard the chair and silently cursed himself. He didn’t like “haunting” things. Maybe two weeks after he had died, he had pulled a chair out from the table and sat in it while Dad was looking absentmindedly in the fridge, wearing one of Wilbur’s oversized hoodies. It had scared the shit out of Dad, and Wilbur had felt awful about it afterwards.

Dad looked back down at his computer after a moment, that look of concern still on his face. He readjusted the phone against his ear. “Sorry, ma’am, can you repeat the part about the car accident? I got distracted.”

If Wilbur was still alive he would have felt his heart stop.

A car accident. A car accident. Who. Who.  _ Who. _

Could it be—

No. No, he refused to believe it. He refused to believe that something could have happened to  _ her _ .

To Sally. 

“Yeah, I heard that part. How long ago did you say this happened? Four years ago, and he’s still having issues?”

Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. Not Sally. Sally was fine. Sally was alive and safe.

Sally. If there was one major thing he regretted about his death, it was not telling Sally he loved her. And god, did he love her. He loved her like the sun loves to reflect off the sea, he loved her like springtime loves the flowers and the bees, he loved her like the heat loves summer. He  _ loved _ her. He loved her.

But he couldn’t tell her anymore. 

“What  _ does _ he remember?”

Wilbur snapped back into the present.

There was a silence. “Nothing? What about his parents—”

Dad nearly dropped the phone, his eyes growing wide.

“He… he remembers…” Dad swallowed. “He remembers  _ him _ ? He doesn’t remember his parents,  _ anything _ about his childhood, he barely remembers what he did in class every day, but he remembers…  _ How? _ Techno never mentioned him…” 

Dad furrowed his brow and leaned back in his chair. “And he said Techno was his friend, right? What’s his name again?”

And then all of a sudden he looked like he had been hit by lightning. “Wait! Wait, I remember him!” Dad said, slapping his forehead with his free hand. “He came over one time and played with Tommy for a little while! This is the same kid?” A silence, and Dad’s astonished laughter. “Oh my god. Oh my god, absolutely! I will absolutely consider this! What color do you think he’d want his room?”

The woman on the other side of the phone laughed so hard that Wilbur could hear it perfectly. Dad’s face was cracked into a massive smile, the bags under his eyes melting away. 

Wilbur suddenly realized how  _ tired _ Dad always looked. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he and Techno had died.

Dad said goodbye to the woman on the phone, hung up, and immediately began typing on his computer. Curious, Wilbur stood and walked behind him, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

He was looking up mattresses, bed frames, bedspreads, pillows, bookcases, dressers, everything that a bedroom would need. There was a light in his eyes that Wilbur hadn’t seen in a long time.

Wilbur hoped that, whoever this kid was, he’d make Dad happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so fucking excited y'all you have no goddamn idea. ALSO next chapter comes out next week instead of this friday because i have quite a bit going on this week and i want to take my time with this next chapter, considering that it's a big moment in the story. ily all so much thank you for reading!!!!!


	6. Mark My Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw//drug use, violence, implied domestic violence, death
> 
> this was 20 fucking pages so i hope it was worth the wait for y'all

Tubbo woke with a start the next morning, his mind racing. It was the last day of school, the last day of 5th grade, summer was  _ finally _ here. He leapt from his bed and rushed around, getting ready for the day. As soon as he was dressed he flung himself into the hallway and into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth with vigor.

Summer. Summer was finally here. No more bullies, no more homework, no more mean teachers. It would just be summer. Tubbo  _ loved _ summer, because that’s when the sky was bluest and the clouds were fat and white and wispy and puffy and the bees bumbled contentedly among the flowers dad would plant in the flowerbed in front of the porch. The trees would be vibrantly green and the grass would be soft and scratchy and ticklish under his back when he laid on the ground.

And Uncle Schlatt. Uncle Schlatt was coming. He was coming to stay with them for a few weeks, and he was coming to see Tubbo graduate from 5th grade tonight. Tonight, Uncle Schlatt would be here.

“Mornin’, Tubb!” 

He quickly grinned at Dad, who stood in the bathroom doorway with an amused grin on his face. “Morning!” he said around the toothbrush in his mouth.

“You excited for today, bud?”

Tubbo nodded violently. “Uh huh!”

“Me too, kiddo. I can _ not _ believe you’re graduating from 5th grade today. You are getting  _ way _ too big!”

“No I’m not!” Tubbo protested, spitting out the toothpaste from his mouth and rinsing his toothbrush. “You’re just getting old!”

Dad laughed in surprise. “ _ What _ did you just call me?!”

“Old! You’re so old!”

Dad’s laughter was infectious. “Get over here, I’ll show you who’s old!” he said, then lunged at Tubbo. Tubbo shrieked with laughter and jumped past Dad into the hallway. Dad began chasing him through the hall and down the stairs with outstretched arms. “COME HERE! I’M GONNA GETCHA! I’M GONNA GETCHA!”

Tubbo ran into the living room, Dad far behind him, and spotted a blanket on the couch and immediately threw it over himself, squishing himself as far into the cushions as possible.

Dad’s footsteps thundered down the stairs and paused, then resumed until a shadow obscured the faint light coming through the fabric of the blanket.

“Wow, look at how lumpy this blanket is!” Dad said loudly. Tubbo had to hold back a snicker. “Guess I’d better lay on it to smooth it out!”

Tubbo shrieked with laughter as Dad flopped on top of him, squishing him down even further into the couch. Dad was laughing too, and the tumble of his chest made Tubbo feel safe. Dad always made him feel safe.

“I GOTCHA! I GOTCHA!” Dad said, beginning to tickle Tubbo’s sides. Tubbo shrieked again as the two dissolved into a fit of laughter.

By the time Dad’s onslaught was over, Tubbo’s chest was heaving from exertion, and he and Dad lay on the floor panting.

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

The two of them looked towards the bottom of the stairs where Tommy stood, a look of baffled amusement on his face.

* * *

“Tommy! How are ya doin’?”

Tommy grinned. “I’m doin alright, man. You?”

Eret smiled and clapped Tommy on the shoulder. “I’ve been doing good! Hey, did you hear about the new kid?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, who is it?”

“Okay, I don’t know their name or pronouns but they’re really fucking tall and they wear these really dark sunglasses and honestly? I’m gonna invite them to sit with us at lunch. I’m pretty sure they’re a band student so we can meet them then, if you’re up to it!”

Tommy shrugged. “I’m up for it if you are, big man. I’m surprised they came to school as the new kid  _ today _ , of all days. Why not just wait for summer break to end?”

“I dunno.” Eret shrugged.

The end-of-third-hour-bell rang, and the two walked out into the hall together, chatting as they went. 

Eret and Tommy had met at the beginning of the year during marching band camp. Tommy was a freshman playing the trumpet and Eret was the junior-year section leader of the clarinets. Tommy passed out on the blacktop (it had been over a hundred degrees), Eret had pulled him over to the grass and poured ice water on his face to wake him up, and the two of them had gotten along like a house on fire ever since.

Tommy and Eret reached the band room where the other band students sat on the floor in their own friend groups. Near the percussion lockers sat their friends in a small circle with two open spaces saved for them. They seemed to be playing some sort of card game—

Oh no. Oh god, no.

_ Uno _ .

When the group played Uno, bad things happened. Bad things like broken tables and toilet paper rolls thrown across Tommy’s kitchen. Dad had forbid Uno after that day.

Niki, Karla and Puffy were cackling maniacally at something on Karl’s phone. Niki spotted the two and frantically waved them over. “C’mere, c’mere!” she said, excitement in her voice.

Eret helped Tommy sit on the floor (his crutches limited his mobility quite a bit) and the group handed out the Uno cards to each other and began to play.

It was a few minutes into the game before Eret tapped him on the shoulder and chucked her head back at the far corner of the band room. “That’s them.”

Tommy turned to look.

They  _ were _ very tall. Tommy guessed they were probably around 6’6”, based on the way their limbs were scrunched into their chest. They were clutching a notebook and writing in it like writing in it was the only thing keeping them alive. True to what Eret had said, their sunglasses were very dark and seemed to block out almost all light. 

They looked up for the barest moments and locked eyes with Tommy and nodded at him before looking back down at their notebook.

Tommy turned to Eret. “Can you invite them to sit with us?”

Eret nodded. “Yeah, be right back.” Eret stood from her spot on the ground and walked over to the new kid, who looked up suddenly at his approach.

“What’s Eret doing?” Puffy asked.

“She’s inviting the new kid to sit with us.”

Puffy nodded, satisfied. “Cool, cool.  _ NIKI! _ ” she shouted suddenly as Niki slammed a +4 onto the card pile with a look on her face that could kill God. “How  _ could you _ ?! We agreed to take Karl down together! We were a team! What happened to us?!”

“I gave up the hope of siding with you when you blew up my Minecraft house yesterday,” she said simply.

“I SAID I WAS SORRY!”

Tommy and Karl looked at each other, then back at the girls. “Ladies—” Tommy began, but was stopped immediately by Niki.

“Sshhhht! Do  _ not _ interrupt my girlfriend.”

Tommy held his hands up, laughing. “Hey, man, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“MAKE ROOM BOYS!” Eret said suddenly, coming up from behind Tommy. “ _ This _ is Ranboo.”

“Hello, Ranboo!” Niki said cheerfully. “You might not be used to this question, but what are your pronouns?”

“Uh, he/him,” Ranboo said in a quiet voice. “Sorry, I’m not used to talking to other people.”

“You are  _ perfectly _ fine,” Puffy reassured him. “Sit down! We’re playing Uno. It’s very entertaining for observers. I’m Puffy, that’s Karl, that’s Niki, and that’s Tommy!”

Tommy gave a little wave as a greeting. “What brings you to this school, Ranboo?”

“Oh, my new foster family is here,” he said, sitting down next to Tommy. “I’m moving into their place in about a week but in the meantime the state wanted me to be enrolled in the district ahead of time.”

The group nodded in satisfaction. “Do you know their names?” Karl asked. “We might know them.”

“I, uh… I cannot remember. Gimme a sec,” he said, then started frantically flipping through the pages of his notebook. Tommy noticed there were large bold letters on the front that said  **DO NOT READ** . “Hold on, I’ll find it—“

“Tommy?”

Tommy twisted around to see who was behind him.

Dad stood there, holding a coffee in his left hand and doing finger guns with his right. A smile was on his face.

Tommy grinned. “Hey, dad, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be teaching?”

“I’ve come to visit my favorite freshman. Also I didn’t feel like teaching on the last day of school so I put on Shrek 2 again and my fourth hour scares me when they watch Shrek 2.”

Eret laughed. “Why do you show it to them, then?”

“ _Not_ playing it practically _invites_ chaos. They had all heard from the other hours that it was Shrek 2 day, so they would have ritualistically sacrificed me if I didn’t play it.”

“Is there someone in there with them?”

“Mr. NotFound offered to watch them, so I expect he’ll be on the ground crying by the time I get back.”

The group laughed. Dad smiled tiredly and took a drink from his coffee. “Whatcha all up to?”

“Uno,” Puffy announced. “Wanna play after this round?”

“ _ Jesus Christ _ , with you guys? Don’t you remember what happened to my kitchen last time? No thank you.”

Tommy laughed. “You have, like, a chronic fear of it now, don’t you? I mentioned it in passing like a week ago and you looked at me like I had summoned a demon in Latin.”

“Tommy, I firmly believe that whenever you say the U word,  _ that _ one knows about it,” Dad said, then pointed at Puffy, who broke into hysterical laughter. 

“Sir,” Ranboo said, looking up at Dad. “You’re a teacher here? I’m new, so I was just curious.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Mr. Watson, but these guys know me as Tommy’s dad. What’s your name?”

“I, uh… I’m Ranboo.” 

Dad’s face changed ever-so-slightly.

No one knew that look. No one knew what that look meant, not the potential it held.

Except for Tommy.

That was the look that Dad gave Tommy on the days where Tommy told him about the test he aced or the first time he played his trumpet solo perfectly in the kitchen. It was the look he would give Tubbo when he would talk about everything he knew about bees or something good that had happened that day.

Pride. It was pride. There was no other look that looked like the one that dad gave you when he was proud of you.

“Ranboo, huh?” he said. He crouched down and stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you swing by my classroom during your lunch period?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Good, I’ll see you then. Do you need a lunch? I can grab you one, if you’d like.”

“I’m okay, thank you.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. Tommy, remember that Uncle Schlatt is coming over tonight so Tub is gonna be hyperactive. I give you full permission to go into your room to avoid it because I know it overwhelms you. I love you, I miss you every second I don’t see you, and I’ll take you home tonight so we can grab some pizza from the gas station.” Dad leaned forward and kissed Tommy’s forehead. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Of course, dad. I love you too.”

Dad winked at him, stood up, gave one last goodbye to the group, then walked out of the classroom with his coffee still in hand.

* * *

The door to the classroom creaked open. Phil looked up. “Hey, Ranboo! Pull up a chair at my desk and we can talk for a little while.”

Ranboo nodded and pulled a blue chair up to the corner of Phil’s desk. “What did you want to talk about, sir?”

“Well  _ first _ I wanted to introduce myself,” he said, giving Ranboo a hopefully reassuring smile. “My name is Phil. Phil Watson.”

Ranboo’s tall and hunched-over frame seemed to freeze. “You… you’re Mr. Watson?”

Phil nodded. “Yep. But you can call me Phil when we aren’t in class.” Phil leaned forward and propped his chin in his hand. “I know that this is a bit odd, meeting like this. I honestly wasn’t expecting to meet you until next week. But I’m glad we get to meet beforehand.”

Ranboo nodded slowly. “...Me too.”

The two sat in a bit of a silence while Phil retrieved his lunch from the mini fridge next to his desk. When he set everything on his desk, he noticed that Ranboo hadn’t moved. 

“Where’s your lunch?”

“I don’t eat lunch.”

Phil furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Ranboo shrugged. “I don’t eat lunch.”

“Hold out your hand, please.”

“I—“

“Please?”

Ranboo slowly reached out a pale hand from the sleeves of his black moth-eaten hoodie. His fingers were trembling, confirming Phil’s suspicion.

“You’re shaking, bud. Did you eat breakfast?”

He muttered something.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t remember.”

_ Right _ . That.

“What do you want to eat?”

Ranboo looked up sharply at him. “What?”

“What do you want to eat?” Phil asked again. “I can run down to the gas station and grab you some pizza, or there’s a Subway within walking distance I can get you something from. Hell, I’ll drive into the next town to grab you McDonald’s.”

“No, no, please don’t do that.”

“Then what do you want to eat? You need to eat something, bud. I can tell you didn’t have breakfast this morning, and you  _ cannot _ go all day without eating, okay? It’s not healthy.”

“I…” Ranboo stuttered. “I-I’ll be fine, I promise—“

“No, Ranboo. I may not be your foster father yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care about you. What sandwich do you want from Subway?”

Ranboo was silent.

“Ranboo?”

To Phil’s horror, Ranboo sniffed and took his sunglasses off, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I-I’m sorry, I just…” His voice broke. “I haven’t had a foster parent talk to me like that. I feel like I would remember if one did.”

Phil’s heart dropped to his shoes. “Don’t apologize, bud,” he said softly, leaning forward and offering his hand for Ranboo to take. “Please don’t apologize for that, okay? I know about your memory problems. I will be as patient as I can. If it’s an issue of you  _ forgetting _ to make yourself breakfast, then it won’t be anymore. I make breakfast every morning for the boys and myself, so I’ll make you some unless you want to make your own.”

Ranboo sniffed, put his glasses back on, and took Phil’s hand. He was cold and clammy.

“Can I have a turkey sub, please?”

Phil cracked a smile. “Of course, bud.”

* * *

“So, how was the rest of your day?” Dad asked, taking a bite from his slice of pizza. 

“We mostly just watched movies in our classes,” Tommy said. “So it was pretty boring. Why did you talk to Ranboo during lunch?” 

“I wanted to make sure he was adjusting okay,” he said. “Did you have any other classes with him?”

“Yeah, actually. Sixth hour we talked for a little while. He’s actually pretty funny.”

“Good, good. I saw him and Eret walking in the hall earlier so they’ll probably get along well.”

The car pulled up to the house, where a familiar blue Honda Civic sat in the driveway.

“Looks like Schlatt’s here! Wanna go inside?”

Tommy snorted. “I can practically hear Tubbo screaming already.”

Dad parked the car in the driveway and Tommy hopped out of the front seat. The front door opened and Uncle Schlatt walked onto the porch.

Uncle Schlatt wasn’t  _ actually _ Dad’s brother; he was a very close friend of Dad’s who he had gone to High School with. That didn’t mean Tommy didn’t love Schlatt, though. Schlatt practically  _ was _ his uncle, with the summer trips and amusement park visits and late night video game sessions. He could just be a bit…  _ overwhelming _ at times.

Schlatt grinned. “Tommy!” he called. “How are you doin, bud? I missed you!”

Tommy made his way onto the porch with his crutches and gave Schlatt a quick hug. “I’m good! How are you?”

“I’ve been doin’ good!” he said. “How does it feel to finally be done with freshman year?”

“It hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” Tommy admitted. “So how long are you staying for?”

“Probably a week or two. Gotta talk to Phil about some stuff, help him do a few things, spend some time with you and the Tubster, you know how it is. Phil, what the fuck is in this giant-ass package on your porch?”

“It’s for a project!” Dad called from the car. He was rummaging around in the backseat, probably looking for his laptop. “I’ll tell you about it later when the boys are busy!”

“Oh boy,” Schlatt said, scratching the back of his neck. “Wonder what  _ that _ entails.”

Two hours later, once Tommy was on the couch and playing Mario Kart with Uncle Schlatt, the front door swung open.

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here! His car is in the driveway so he’s gotta be here! Dad where is he!!”

Dad laughed from the kitchen. “He’s in the living room with Tommy, Tub.”

The aggressive pounding of footsteps heralded Tubbo’s approach. There was a shriek, and then suddenly Uncle Schlatt was laying on the floor laughing, Tubbo on top of him.

“Uncle Schlatt! Uncle Schlatt!!” Tubbo screamed, throwing his arms around Schlatt’s neck. “Uncle Schlatt you’re here!!!”

Schlatt squeezed Tubbo to his chest, kissing his forehead over and over and over again. “Oh god, I missed you, Tub, I missed you so much.”

* * *

“Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s ceremony!” the elementary principal said from the stage. “We are so glad you could make it today for this very special occasion. Our faculty is extremely proud of every one of your children and we are honored that you chose us to teach your children and help them grow into the bright students they have become.”

The principal continued to talk, but Phil could hardly concentrate.

He couldn’t believe it. Tubbo was going to middle school. 

He clenched his jaw. Fuck. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Oh god he was so big, he was so  _ fucking _ big. He was getting so old so quickly, and Phil despised it. He despised it with every inch of his being. 

“So, without further ado, our 5th grade graduation ceremony shall now begin!”

Phil was jerked back into the present.

5th grade graduation. 

They were having the kids stand single file in a line according to last name. He could see Tubbo near the very back of the line. Tubbo was looking around the crowd when he spotted Phil, then waved wildly. Phil smiled and waved back at him.

Tubbo. 

Phil was terrified that one day Schlatt would break. That Schlatt would say that he wanted Tubbo back, and that he would take him away. 

What would Phil be able to do? Betray Schlatt and deny him his son?

No. He knew what would happen. Phil would give Schlatt custody of Tubbo. And then Phil would break.

But Tubbo was  _ his  _ son. He had raised him.  _ He _ was his father. It wouldn’t be  _ fair _ . Not when he was the one who Tubbo trusted with every little secret, not when he was the one who read Tubbo bedtime stories for eight years, not when he was the one Tubbo called Dad. 

“Dad?”

Phil jumped a little at the sound of Tommy’s voice. He turned to Tommy and gave him a smile that he hoped wouldn’t betray what he had been thinking. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re really pale right now.”

“It’s just the lights in here,” Phil lied. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Tommy nodded, then looked forward again. Phil could tell he wasn’t convinced. He silently cursed himself. Tommy doesn’t need to be dragged into his problems, he shouldn’t have to worry about his own fucking father, god how  _ stupid _ was he—

“Tubbo Watson!”

Tommy and Schlatt both stood, so Phil quickly followed. The three of them cheered as loud as they possibly could as Tubbo walked across the stage with a massive grin on his face. The teachers all shook his hand and the principal handed him a little certificate with his name on it. He ran off the stage and joined his classmates to the left of the stage. 

Phil’s chest swelled with emotion. He had never been more proud.

* * *

“PHIL!”

Fuck. Fuck, please no.  _ Please _ no.

“Come on, boys,” Phil said, trying not to let the panic he felt show in his voice. He placed his hands on their backs and guided them forward. “Come on, we need to go  _ now _ .”

“PHIL, GET BACK HERE YOU  _ MOTHERFUCKER _ !”

“Tommy, take your brother to the car,” he said. “Take him  _ now _ .”

“Is that mom?”

“ _ Go! _ ”

Tommy nodded frantically and grabbed Tubbo’s hand. “Come on, we need to get to the car!”

“YOU GET YOUR ASSES BACK HERE AND TALK TO ME!”

“Leave them out of this, Sam!” Phil warned, stopping in his tracks and turning to face her. But when he saw her, he froze.

She was high. She was high off her ass. She stumbled into the light of one of the street lamps illuminating the parking lot and paused. Her pupils were blown open, and she was pale and shaking. 

No. No no no, not like this, not like this. 

“I want to talk to my  _ fucking _ children,” she slurred. “I wanna talk to them! Ask how they’re doing! Is that so  _ FUCKING BAD, PHIL?! _ ”

“Leave, Sam,” Schlatt said, raising his voice. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

“YOU! Yousshhhuu…  _ yoooou _ shut the  _ fffuck _ up!” she said, pointing at him, stumbling toward him until she jabbed her finger into his chest. Phil took a step back, his heart slamming against his ribs. “You  _ asshole _ … I wish you’d died back then , you know? I never liked you, always taking Phil away from me… taking my fucking children away from me! You know what  _ reeeaaaally  _ pissed me off, Schlatt?! That little stunt you pulled with Wilbur! You killed my  _ fucking kid _ , Schlatt. You RIPPED HIM APART!” she screamed, shoving him. “YOU KILLED MY FUCKING SON!”

“Sam—”

“I should have  _ never _ trusted you, Schlatt,” she spat. “No one fucking believes me, but YOU AND I KNOW THE TRUTH!  _ DON’T WE!!! _ ”

“SAM!” Phil screamed, his voice shattering. His chest heaved. “Please, please just stop! You were at the hospital that day, you  _ know _ what happened!”

She turned those wide, bloodshot, rage-filled eyes toward Phil, and he felt his stomach twist into knots. “Then tell me, Phil,” she growled. “What.  _ Fucking _ . Happened.”

The words felt like poison in his mouth, slithering in his stomach. 

“It wasn’t Schlatt’s fault. It was mine, and you know it.”

Schlatt turned his head and gave Phil a desperate look. “Phil, no—”

“I  _ killed  _ him, Schlatt. There was so much that I could have done, and I just  _ didn’t _ . I killed Wilbur.”

Sam changed at that moment. She changed into something far, far worse.

“After all these years, you admit it. My son is dead because of  _ you. _ ”

“You’re crazy,” Schlatt said, fear in his voice. “You’re actually… grade-A crazy.”

Schlatt was on the ground before Phil could even move to defend him. He groaned and held the right side of his face. Sam had punched him straight in the jaw.

She turned again to Phil, who recoiled. 

There was nothing human in her eyes. Just burning fire. 

Before he could move, she had grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him forward so that their faces were just barely touching.

“Mark my words, Phil,” she said, slowly and purposefully, shaking him. “Read my  _ FUCKING LIPS _ ! You killed my children, whether you did it with your own hands or not. _ I will have my children back, the ones that I can still fucking hold, before the end of the year! _ ” 

She shoved him away. He stumbled for a moment, then regained his footing. 

When he looked up, she was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok so i have been absolutely SPIRALING lately so uhh fuck the upload schedule y'all get chapters when i feel like publishing them (i promise this project won't be abandoned i promise i love writing this way too much to abandon it)

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will be posted on [REDACTED].


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